It Only Hurts
by Fearfully and Wonderfully Made
Summary: He breathes because he has to, because if he doesn't he'll die, too. Luka
1. And So I Ache

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything that can be recognized with ER. Some things may pop up the story that you can't recognize and that might have been something that I've made up._

Author's Notes: Takes place sometime in season 13. Details in season 12 have been changed to fit the story.

This story deals with _insomnia, drug addiction, and death_ all connected to our favorite doctor, Luka Kovac, in some way. If you wish not to see vulgar and in detail scenes, don't read. Contains character death, violence, language, and explicitely sexual scenes. !WARNING!**Graphic**!WARNING!

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Sam Taggart reached the top of the staircase to the floor that her apartment was on, keys jingling in hand, and she sighed as she sneaked a peek at her watch. She had hoped that she wouldn't make it home as late as she had for the sake argument with her son in the morning for "failure to comply with _his_ rules" and make it home before he was sent to bed by her very compliant boyfriend. At least one of them was compliant.

She sighed as she shoved her key into the lock, the two metals grinding together hard enough to make her believe the key was going to break off in place and she'd be locked outside for the night, and let her eyes slightly roll into the back of her head. The amazing part was that she wasn't as tired as she'd expected to be, and it was almost a blessing considering that she didn't need to be in until noon the next day. Something was definitely on her side.

She pushed the front door open and stepped in as quietly as she could, and she listened to the front door creak a cringe crossing her face as though it would tune the noise from the entire apartment as well as from her own ears. The door was locked, and chained for good measure, and she was surprised to see the lights on in the kitchen and the living room without anyone sitting in the room. It made her give the room a double take, hoping to find her boys still up regardless of what her rules were.

She pulled the bag off of her shoulder and hung it on the hook, silently swearing to herself that the hook would break from the heavy contents packed inside. She couldn't even remember what she had stuffed in there, but she was sure that it was freakishly heavy – weighing down her shoulder and leaving her with sufficient back pains.

She shook her head as she sighed, knowing that walking in 2 hours after her shift was supposed to end wouldn't be a success to see her son – she felt like it had been forever – but part of her had hoped to see her boyfriend. She was slightly disappointed, hoping to wrap her hands around his and pull him to her just for the sake of contact, but it was something that she'd learned to live with. It worried her that she'd grown accustomed to being apart from him so long, but she did her best to simply ignore it.

She flicked off the lights and quietly climbed the stairs up to the bedroom that she shared with her boyfriend, forgetting that she still had her black, velvet coat wrapped around her, and nearly tripped on the last step in the dark. The beam of light splayed through the crack in the dark, and she wondered if he'd left lights on in the bedroom or if the lights were seeping in through the window from the street lights. It took her a long moment to stop and catch her breath, the rush from climbing the stairs still resting heavy on her chest.

She paused in the doorway upon hearing his shallow and rugged breaths, prompting her to lean against the solid green doorframe. She slid her hand across the width of the door, pushing it open to show her the struggling form of her boyfriend asleep in the bed that they shared, and she narrowed her eyes in his direction as she took in the sight of the rather tall man. He suddenly stilled, and she sucked in a deep breath at his slumbering form.

He was beautifully splayed across the bed, his arms tucked beneath him and his fingertips pinching the front of his black sweater, his jeans resting low on his hips as though his belt was shy of doing the job that it was made to do. He finally looked peaceful, faint beads of sweat glistening his forehead – the aftermath of his dream – his feet hanging off of the edge of the mattress with the shoelaces on his boots untied. He obviously hadn't had intentions of falling asleep whenever he lay down.

She smiled slightly, the tug at the corners of her lips playing a twitch as she was silently captivated by this man who had managed to tug at her thin heartstrings a numerous amount of times. She wanted to remember that moment, wishing silently that she had a camera so that she could actually remember that exact picture perfect moment, and she wasn't sure that it would be that simple. She sighed from deep within her, letting her exhaustion be a lingering feeling within her.

She unbuttoned her coat and slid it off of her shoulders until it collided with the floor as she kicked the door closed behind her, ignoring the loud thump that her cell phone made as it crushed into the cushion of the coat. Another sigh elicited from her lips as she advanced further into the room and she reached her hands out, lightly touching the slightly exposed skin of his ankle between the end of his pants and the beginning of his boots. She slid her nails up his legs a bit, pressing her knee into the edge of the mattress between his legs, and she tugged her fingers back down until they met the coolness of the room again. She looked at his face, his eyebrow twitching on his face and then settling again – a slight hint of arousal coursing through his veins even in his sleep.

She tapped her delicate fingertips against his calves, the back of his knees, the back of his thighs, and they brushed over his hips as she seemed to tease the skin at the base of his spine while she smiled slightly at his boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans. His jeans were so loose around his waist, and she bit her bottom lip as she briefly closed her eyes while she shook her head. She slid her hands further up his body before she masked his arms with her touch.

Straddling him at his waist, she leaned down and lightly brushed her lips across the crook in his neck as she traced the length of his body with her hands. She smiled against his skin as he sucked in a deep breath and stirred beneath her slightly, and he groaned from deep within the back of his throat. The noise eliciting from the back of his throat made her kiss the side of his neck, the slight stubble on his face rough against her lips.

"Baby," she breathed out against his skin, her hands slipping between them and between her legs until she could slide her hands up the back his shirt. Her hands slid up his body, the feel of his skin against her fingertips making her smile as she nuzzled her face into the back of his neck, and she squeezed his hips with her knees. "Let us get you out of these clothes so you can get to bed."

She pressed her hands across the broad space of his back, wishing with everything inside of her that he'd reach out and touch her, too. She wanted him, she had for a long time, but their time just hadn't seemed to coincide with the others. She could get him to hold her, at least until she fell asleep, but that seemed to be the most amount of contact between them.

She never wanted to be the one to touch him first for fear that he'd brush her off or shy away from her touch – he'd been different since he came back from Africa.

He opened his eyes, glad that she was with him – glad that she was touching him – and he turned his head until his cheek pressed into the comforter. Her hips pressed into his, and shifted them slightly beneath her as he attempted to kick of his shoes, hearing them fall hard to the floor. He smiled slightly as he looked at her, loving the feeling of her body against his.

"I can't move," he whispered tiredly, his voice muffled as it collided with the bedding, and he spread his arms wide across the width of the bed. His body trembled as she pulled her hands out of his shirt, his muscles contracting beneath her fingertips, and he sighed from the mixture of emotion pumping through his mind – through his veins. "Help me."

"Turn over," she smiled gently as her voice was just as soft, sitting upright so her chest wasn't pressed against his back. He shifted, shaking his head as he let his eyes drift closed again, but still rolled onto his back with her still straddling his hips. He inhaled a sharp breath feeling her grind against him, suddenly realizing just how long it had been since he'd had her. "You can't be that tired."

"I had a headache earlier. Took a pain pill and fell asleep whenever I came up here," he didn't bother to open his eyes, and he spread out across the bed, ignoring that he didn't have a pillow positioned under his head. The arch of his back lifted slightly off of the bed as he failed to lift himself up, feeling her knees dig harder into the mattress beside his hips as she moved against his waist. "Alex made it to bed?"

She nodded, but he hadn't seen her with his eyes closed, and she pushed her hands against his hips to slide them up his shirt. He opened an eye at her touch, her index fingers tickling at his skin just above the waistband of his boxers, grinning at the smirk spread across her face. He wondered if she realized just how much she was affecting him at the moment – not that it would have been hard since he was craving her.

He slowly lifted his hands to her hips, his fingers sliding across the tops of her thighs, and he slightly let his thumbs draw circles in her hipbones. He chuckled in the back of his throat when she arched her eyebrow, her hands clutching his sweater by the hem of it as she pulled it off over his head. As her hands slid back down his chest, he arched upwards even the slightest bit to produce a smirk across her face.

"I thought that you said you were too tired."

"I thought it would be more fun if you do it," he smiled, squeezing her hips in his fingertips before he let his hands slide back down her thighs. She traced his exposed chest with her eyes, her fingers brushed down his stomach until it met his belt buckle. He pursed his lips together, watching her intently as she seemed to work her magic on the belt around his waist.

He wanted her, he couldn't deny that, but something made it hard for him to make love with her.

He sighed as though he was disinterested and he let his hands drift for just a moment longer on her legs, his eyes drifting closed as she touched his stomach. He inhaled a sharp breath and opened his eyes again, arching upwards as a chill rushed through his body. He seemed aroused, still yet to touch her, and he almost groaned just at the crave of her body resting against his soul.

"My headache's gone."

She sighed as she rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from him once she'd unbuckled his belt and it clanged together, and let her eyes shift to the ceiling. Looking straight up, she pressed her knees harder into the mattress as she lifted herself off of him and tried not to let her anger show on her face. She clenched her jaw as she pushed off of the mattress beside his head with her hands, and stepped to the floor and away from him.

It was hard for her to sleep next to a mostly naked man that her mind and body, and her soul, were attracted to every night. She felt like she wasn't good enough for him anymore – she felt like he wasn't attracted to her anymore, and that scared her to death. She was in love with a man that didn't, as far as she believed, love her.

"What's the matter?"

"You do this every time, Luka."

"I do what every time?" His face contorted in confusion as he pushed himself up with his elbows, his hand resting awkwardly on his stomach, and he ignored the slight strain in his voice and the fact that his accent seemed a little heavier. He watched her with furrowed eyebrows as she pressed her fingertips into her forehead, his lips slightly parted and his eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She leaned into her dresser, her fingers throbbing against the rough wood as her body ached to be near him, and she shook her head. She knew that he just didn't get it; she'd never really met a man who had gotten it, but that didn't make it any easier. It was hard on her heart, her body, and her soul whenever he made her feel rejected.

"Luka," she fixed her gaze in his direction, never really letting her eyes settle onto him, and she let out a shaky breath. Her breathing constricted in her throat as she wondered how she was still able to breath at all with him sitting so close and knowing that it just wasn't going to happen. "I can count the number of times we've had sex in the last 4 months on one hand, and it's tearing me apart. I want you so bad that I _need_ to feel you, but I just come home to find you asleep and wake up to find you've left me alone in the bed."

"I just," he sighed as his eyes drifted to the floor, dragging a hand through his hair and giving his head a slight shake, "I don't know what to say."

She sighed as she dragged her own hand through her own hair, biting her bottom lip as she turned to pull clothes out of her dresser. He'd gotten accustomed to letting her touch him, but he just couldn't seem to reach out and touch her from lack of will. She loved him, but she wasn't sure anymore that he still loved her and it was tearing her up inside as she went on ignoring it.

"I'm going to go sleep on the couch," she released a shaky breath as she shut the dresser drawer, kicking her shoes off and reaching to pull her shirt off over her head. Maybe she was attempting to tease him a bit, and she guessed that it worked when she heard him quietly gasp in unison with the bed letting out a squeak from behind her. "Don't bother."

He reached around her and caught her hands to entwine in his own grasp, his rough fingertips brushing across the tops of her knuckles as he pressed her palms into her skin. He could feel her pulling away, but he tightened his grasp on her unwilling to let her get away. He'd let her pass too many times and it left him aching just to be with her.

He didn't know how, but he couldn't think this time – he wouldn't allow himself to think this time. But this time was going to be different, he already knew – the pain pills had taken their effect and nothing could make him go back to that moment…

His fingertips sporadically dragged across her skin, but he didn't make a motion or even a thought to move from the position where they were standing. It was almost as though he felt like there was nothing else to do, nothing _better_ to do, than to stand there and hold her close to his heaving chest_. His bare, heaving chest_, she corrected.

She didn't dare make a move to test him; he'd actually wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his hot breath trail across her neck and it made the short, invisible hairs on her skin stand on their ends as a shiver coursed through her body until it traveled passed the base of her spine. It didn't help that he was the one touching her and she was already craving him so much, but she wasn't about to be the cause of the touching to stop.

"I…" he released a shaky breath as his fingertips etched over her skin at her waist, teasing the skin above the waistband of her pants, and he subconsciously licked his lips. His breath created a brain altering breeze over his freshly moist lips, a trail being formed from his lips to her skin. "I ache for you."

Her breathing constricted in her chest, making her take in a sharp breath at the sound of his low, sensual voice, and she clutched the top of the dresser tight in her hands. He'd never said that to her – he'd never uttered those words so delicately and so sensually inches away from her skin, and she knew that tonight would be the night. He wouldn't let her leave their bedroom without it.

Those seemed to be the nights when she was fed up of being without him – the nights that he'd _be_ with her. But it already felt different than the last time, and the time before – he seemed to be craving it, too.

He pressed his hips into hers, surprised by the jerk in her body and uncertain of how her body could react so negatively at the touch of his. He could tell that she wanted to turn around and face him – maybe to pierce her dark eyes into his, or maybe it was to get a better look at what she'd been missing – whatever it was didn't matter. And yet, there was all of this he'd so far as failed to touch her with his lips.

He stepped back, biting his bottom lip as she managed to turn and follow his lead, and his knees buckled as he sat on the edge of the bed. He looked straight ahead to see her waistline at his eye level, and he reached his fingers out to ghostly skim over her skin, trembling all the while, as he pushed his hands around her hips. He pulled her into the hot air between his parted legs, making her knees collide with the mattress, and he glanced up at her eyes.

"You don't know what you do to me," he muttered, surprised that he'd managed to spit out some words in English.

"No," she lightly shook her head, "I don't."

She noted that he still hadn't kissed her, anywhere, and she vaguely wondered if he'd even noticed – she wondered if he even noticed that they seemed to have no sexual relationship – that his moist lips hadn't even touched her skin. She looked down at him with slightly furrowed eyebrows, her hands hanging awkwardly in the air without any place to put them. She still awaited him to react to what she said, defend his own movements.

"You don't?" His voice was slightly teasing, a chuckle resting deep into the back of his throat and he pushed out a rather airy breath. His breath floated across her skin just like it was a ghost as he collected the hem of her shirt in one hand and the waistband of her scrubs in the other, exposing her hipbone. "You should know."

His voice vibrated across her exposed flesh, his rough fingertips making faint and gentle brushes across her flesh beneath her clothes, and he slowly pressed his lips against her. He felt her fingers lightly touch the back of his neck, prompting him to lift his eyes up to hers, and he lazily pressed his lips into her skin to make a trail to her naval. He pushed his hands up her sides, his fingertips gliding with ease – all natural – up her shirt to bring the bottom of it up her torso, exposing her tanned and toned abdomen to him.

"Lijepo," he muttered against her skin, failing to realize that he'd gone from speaking English to speaking Croatian. His breath collided angrily with her slightly moist flesh, marks of where his lips had been, and he found it hard not to concentrate on her. "O, kakav lijepi pogled! You know that?"

He hadn't even realized he'd done it again, but he continued to drag his lips across her skin.

His lips on her body created this want, this arousal within her that replaced the old one, and she framed his face in her hands as her eyes drifted closed. She tugged him upward, pulling his lips from her body to kiss him, and he let his fingers press into her skin just below her breastbones as he stood to crush his lips against hers. She seemed so unfamiliar with his touch that she moaned when he crushed his lips to hers, her body shaking against him.

He slid his hands down her backside and lifted her by the back of her thighs, her shirt settling back down rather disappointedly, and felt her wrap her legs around his waist as his fingers fanned out against her skin. He had one thing on his mind, and he'd do almost anything to keep it that way – he had done anything to keep it that way; it's how he'd gotten himself to sleep – he planned on making love to her like he hadn't in a long time.

He kept himself on track and pressed onward, turning towards their bed and pulling his lips from hers to pull her shirt off over her head, listening triumphantly as it echoed when crashing to the floor – they were making a mess of clothes. He pressed one knee into the mattress to ease her down, laying her back as he let himself drink her in and trace her form splayed out before him. He bit his bottom lip rather teasingly, brushing his hands over her thighs.

"Luka," she whispered, her voice quivering in ways that lead him to believe she was afraid to speak, and her hands slid in his to entwine their fingers together. She'd caught his attention, she could tell, she'd caught it in ways that she could barely remember catching it. Oh, they'd had sex since being back together, but never had it felt like this – and they were only at the beginning. "I miss you."

"I'm right here, dragi," he whispered back, brushing his fingers over her knuckles and rubbing circles into the back of her hands. He leaned over her, his silver necklace with a cross for a charm clumping up in a pile in the middle of her chest, and he lazily pressed his lips into hers. "I'm right here."

Pulling her hands over her head, he heard her gasp against his cheek and tighten her legs around his waist as he felt her chest heaving into his. His belt buckle dangled from his waist and pressed into her stomach, his hips grinding into hers as he pushed his upper body up to look at her face. He stopped moving, he stopped everything – the only movement being his chest as he breathed in and out – as he reintroduced himself with the dark eyes looking back at him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he quietly reassured.

Rubbing her arms, he kissed down her body – her throat, her chest, her stomach – until he reached the waistband of her scrub bottoms. His hand stopped on her breast and the other one continued the assault down her body as he let his lips linger on her hipbone. He looped his fingers around the waistband and gave them a slight tug, exposing more of her flesh to him, and he could feel the warmth that her body was producing.

Beads of sweat began to glisten his skin, his muscles aching from being used in ways he hadn't been able to let himself use them, and it began mixing with hers as he slid back up her body. He was caught off guard as she pressed her lips into the crook of his neck, knowing that not only would her lips become moist but she'd also have a salty taste left to linger on them.

Something in him suddenly changed, and he remembered what it felt like to have her during the throes of passion, willing to take her then and there.

"Sam," he breathed, gruffly in the back of his throat, as he slammed his body into hers only to elicit a moan from her lips in the folds of his neck, "I need to have you."

He did it again, slammed his body into hers. She could feel him, all of him, against her as the rough edges of his jeans whipped across her stomach and leaving their mark against her flesh. He was leaving his mark on her instead of making her leave the mark – he was aching, throbbing even.

"No," she groaned lightly, her voice not even forceful as she pressed her hands into his shoulders to flip them over and straddle his waist. It was the waiting – she was tired of the waiting. "It hurts."

She saw the panic invade his face, but ignored it as she slipped her fingers around the buttons of his pants to break him open, the breeze immediately running through him.

"The waiting hurts."

She watched him watch her for just a moment before she slid his pants off of his long legs, letting them drop to the floor, and looked back up at him as he slowly reached out to her. He entwined his fingers with hers, pulling her back up his body as he slid his other hand down her back to do the same to her.

Thrusting into her with ease, he saw nothing but her for the first time in 4 months. He didn't have the usual struggle in his head, he didn't have that fresh memory playing like an overused video tape, he didn't smell that smell that he could only recall from memory; no, instead, he could feel everything in him course through his veins, he saw her like a fresh memory in the making, and he smelled the mixture of his body scent colliding with hers. He knew that he was in trouble.

He found something that worked, and he was able to feel again.

-


	2. Back to Humanity

"You okay?"

"My hands are cold."

Luka's hands were shaking by then, and he was forced to move his legs before anyone else in the trauma room could notice; he inhaled a deep breath while hoping that his team of co-workers would continue to work on the patient before all hope was lost. His leg was aching; at least, that's what he thought was aching. He wasn't really sure anymore.

He didn't remember much about the night before, except that he and Sam had made love, but he really couldn't recall anything furthermore. He didn't really remember anything from when he'd taken that pill, because of the combined pain of his leg and his head, the pounding in it had been barely bearable, until he was broken free of his trance on the TV by Sam walking down the stairs. His eyes had been locked and focused so hard, but he hadn't been retaining anything.

He felt hardly alive and hardly breathing, that he was only moving out of habit not because his brain was actually telling his body to move. It was sharp breaths for him as he pushed the doors of the trauma room open, forgetting to mutter some simple English words of asking his coworkers if they had it, and he walked down the hall in rather large strides. It was as though he had a destination that even he couldn't figure out what it was, but he found himself standing in the middle of the doctor's lounge.

Luka opened his locker and dug through the pockets of his coat, as though it were a search for something that his life depended on and he only had minutes to live; with a deep inhale, he let the rush run out of him and felt a chill take its place. He wasn't expecting for his hands to start shaking; in fact, it made him feel rather weak – but it wasn't something that he could control.

He stepped back, leaving his locker open as he collapsed onto the couch; he dropped his head to his hands and desperately attempted to calm his body with short, rapid breaths. His attempts were useless, and he felt tears spring to his eyes as a lone tear slipped down his cheek, staining it as it made a trail to his lips and stung the cracks in his bottom lip. His shoulders heaved but the sobs never came; his breathing was a raspy struggle as his voice begged to cry out. It was the first time that he'd shed a single tear for everything, he realized.

Scrubbing his hand across his face as he inhaled deep breath through his fingers, he forced himself into a standing position with his hand outstretched to search the pockets of his coat again. He shook his head when he found that, even though he had searched twice, he had found absolutely nothing, and he grasped tightly onto his locker door and threw it shut – the lockers rattling down the row. Oxygen, he needed some fucking oxygen.

He felt like his lungs were constricting in his chest, and he lightly touched his fingertips over his broad skin hoping to drown out the pain with his own touch. He was desperate, not only was his body desperate but his mind was desperate as well – he thought that he was experiencing some altered mental status or something. He could walk as fast as he could, but he wouldn't be able to hide the pain all day; it wasn't one of those that came and went – it was there until he found a way to get rid of it.

"Damn it!" His voice carried throughout the walls of the doctor's lounge.

He was beginning to feel physically sick, the vomit crawling up the back of his throat and inching its way up in such a grotesque state that he didn't even want to imagine what was going to happen next. He swallowed the large lump in his throat, hoping that it would force down every last thought that would make him become less of the person he'd tried convince everyone he was. He was strong in stature but weak in mind, and he felt the anger inside of him growing at the thought of himself.

His hands began to shake again, and he decided there was only one option to make all of the pain – mental and physical – go away. He dragged himself across the hall and into the drug lock-up, making sure that one noticed him, although, he was really to the point that he really didn't care, sweeping his hand across the chain in front of the window. His fingertips were rough against the coolness of the metal chain.

He let his fingers tap over the edge of the shelf, as though he was covering his shaking by making himself attempt a tune against the shelving, and he eyed the bottles of pills and vile warily. He was a bit reluctant in taking some from their own stock, but he needed the feeling of sensation that the medication brought him for him to continue on with the day; otherwise, he'd be a useless wreck barely breathing in the presence of his movements. No one wanted him to be a zombie, did they?

He quickly grabbed a vile, and slipped it into his pocket as he made his way to a free room with the hope that he could do this himself. It had been a very long time since he'd been forced to find his own vein and do anything on his own, momentarily remembering when he was in med school and found that the best way to practice was on himself, but he wouldn't – couldn't – let anyone know what he was doing. It would ruin him; it would ruin everything that he'd made for himself.

He sneaked off into a dark room, leaving the lights off as he searched the drawers for a clean and unused needle as his hands continued to shake. He was weary to do this himself, his hands shaking horribly beyond belief and making red flags shoot out in his mind in question of how he was going to do it himself if his hands didn't become still, but he would end up being a ball on the floor if he didn't. He HAD to do it, he would die without it.

He reached into his pocket for the vile and withdrew the liquid into the syringe; he tapped the needle with a solid flick into the syringe grasped tightly in his shaky hand. He pushed the needle into his arm, hoping that he'd hit his vein because he couldn't really feel the pinch in his skin – he couldn't believe that he was shaking so horribly that he was going numb. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to discover that finding his own vein while his hands were shaking was just as easy as painting by numbers would be.

He managed to cross the room and dispose of the syringe and needle, throwing the vile into the bottom of the trash and hearing the glass of it shatter as he knew that the liquid contained in it would drench the bottom of the trash can. He stumbled back to the gurney, placing his hands on the rolling bed to steady himself as he rolled onto his side; he felt like a mess – like he'd been hit by a train and then ran over by a herd of horses, twice. He was still – he was becoming still.

He felt the fight was over and drawing nearer to calmness. He let the drug take over his body, going to the very nerves that was attached to all of the pain that rested in his body – that rested deep into his soul – and made those nerves dead to the world until he was human again. That's exactly what he needed – to be a fucking human again.

A fucking human again.

He laid back on the gurney, hoping that the thrashing and movements were reserved only for nights – when he tried to sleep – and he threw an arm over his eyes to block the light. He pulled his knee towards his chest and pressed his foot against the rolling bed beneath him, letting his other leg hang off so that he could make a move towards the floor if his beeper were to go off. He sighed, feeling sleep deep within him but knowing that it would never come.

The door slightly cracked and a sliver of light appeared through the door to collide with the remotely darkened room, making him squint as the light peeked its way inside of his arm. He sighed haphazardly as he looked in the direction of the shadow; unsure of whom it was that interrupting him from, well, not sleeping, and he sat up. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't seem to decipher who it actually was.

"Go away; page me if you need something," his mouth hung up slightly as he pushed his tongue into the inside of his bottom lip, making it stick out a bit, and he clutched the bedding in his tight grasp. If he were honest with himself, he actually appreciated the interruption – it gave him reason to not sleep. "They have the number at the desk."

"Luka?"

He could place the voice; she sounded so weak, not at all like she used to sound when she spoke to him, but then again, that was when he had loved her and nothing could go wrong between them. Something had to of gone wrong between them, but he couldn't place exactly what had gone wrong – maybe it was that she'd disregarded him and his feelings to just abort his child like that. That child was just as much his as it was hers, but he'd tried to make it work – he just couldn't see passed the volatile human being that she was.

"Yeah?"

"Umm, Kerry Weaver's been trying to get a hold of you. She's on line 2 right now."

He sighed as she disappeared from the doorway, _less interaction the better_, he guessed.

-

Luka angrily pulled the button up dress shirt from the waist of his pants, annoyed by yet another shirt being ruined by blood being smeared across it in the midst of a trauma. He couldn't even recall how many shirts that week had been ruined because of the blood splattering in the middle of a trauma, but he was beginning to remember why he hated having a herd of brand new med students. Most of the blood he found himself drenched in was form bags of O-Neg, not from the patient; he had at least expected brilliant minds to have the ability to insert an IV, but obviously he'd expected too much.

He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his body, letting it become a huddle on the floor beside his feet as he searched in his locker for a t-shirt or a scrub top. He sighed, slightly exasperated that he'd entered the lounge without a different shirt on hand and it prompted him to kick the base of the lockers as though it was giving him a release that he needed. His shoe squeaked as he turned on his heel, slamming his locker as hard as he possibly could.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a blonde haired woman, the long hair tied tightly in a bun behind her head, and her height exceeding Sam's by a few inches. He didn't know what to do or say, but he became suddenly aware that he was half naked; he was always self cautious to let someone look at his body, but a complete stranger made him antsy – he hated the beach for that exact reason. He sucked in his bottom lip and began biting at it to save his life.

She stood tall, her hands in her coat pockets, and she appeared to be unwavering; her nerves were calm – maybe he was just uptight – and it seemed as though nothing could rattle her. Her eyebrows rose for a moment, her mind obviously beginning to move a million times a minute, and she shook her head slightly. He'd never seen her before – _why not?_

"Who the hell are you?"

His voice rumbled deep in the back of his throat as he finally formed words together at the sight of this woman. She was – she'd captivated him like he hadn't been captivated since when he'd first met his wife. He hated that these women could play tricks on him so easily.

He narrowed his eyes in her general direction, hoping to make her shift in her stance or to get some other kind of general reaction out of her, but she never seemed take her eyes off of him in one of those 'I'm watching you' looks. He could honestly say that he didn't know what to think of this woman – she was in his department, wearing one of his lab coats, appearing to be doing his job. He'd kick her ass in a trauma – he'd see to it.

"Who the hell are you?" She could counter him immediately, and that sent something, he wasn't sure what, all the way down to the hollow pits of his stomach. She didn't seem to be flustered at the sight of him, like most other women, and that stirred something inside of him. Tension.

She pursed her lips together as his eyes openly traced her face, her body, and she wasn't sure if it was to get an image of her to imprint onto his brain or if it was because he was somehow attracted to her; her first day back, she certainly was in no absolutely no mood to have a stranger drink her in. Already, she didn't like this tall, dark, and undoubtedly handsome doctor standing before her – obviously believing that his looks would get him somewhere in the world. She didn't know that her looks were the last thing on his mind, and he was trying to find words to express himself.

"I'm the hell person who's the acting chief of this department," he angrily stared, having long forgotten that he was shirtless and his chest was bare to anyone who would dare enter. His chest heaved as he breathed in sharp and rugged breaths, shoving his hands into his hips and encircling them with a tight grip as he leaned back on his leg.

She let out a slightly annoyed breath, also relieved to finally know who the half naked man in the room was. She was beginning to understand the gossip and how Chuny had "informed" her of Dr. Luka Kovac and his undeniable masculine beauty, as she'd so nicely put it, would take some getting used to and she'd be unable to tear her eyes away from him. It wasn't difficult for her to look this man in the eye – in fact, attraction in Chicago was the last thing on her agenda after the last bit of romance she'd gotten a piece of – and she could honestly say that he was a complete mess. But, until further notice, he was her technical boss.

"I'm Dr. del Amico, but call me Anna," she offered him a smile, but it was painted across her face and faker than the plant in the corner, as she outstretched her hand for him to take. She was surprised when he took it, absently dragging his other hand down his chest as though he were embarrassed, and he gave it a firm shake. "Kerry was telling me that you had your hands full down here."

"Are you being transferred here from another department?"

His eyebrows furrowed as he pursed his lips in confusion, scratching the back of his head as he attempted to search the room for something to cover his upper half with. Anna remembered a scrub top being in one of the cabinets that she'd found earlier, and she began searching above the counters. She shook her head.

"I'm your new emergency peds attending," she paused in her search and looked at him over her shoulder, offering him a smile, "I like to live the double life."

"Right," he nodded his head, slightly skeptical.

"I was an intern here many, many years ago – I worked at CHOP," she found the scrub top and offered it to him, then reaching aside for a cup of coffee.

"What the hell is CHOP?"

He asked her while taking the proffered shirt and letting it unfold, noticing that she hadn't seemed to offer him a second glance. He had mixed emotions – it could have been from the drug and it could have been from the lack of sleep – all he knew is that she was a beautiful woman. He'd only admit it to himself, but she was even more beautiful than Sam and he'd thought he was so completely head over heels for her.

He must have been wrong.

She had skin like a light chocolate milk mixture that made her country look a bit more attractive than she might have normally been, and, if he had to guess, he'd say that with age she would have been more beautiful than she was 10 years ago. Her eyes were a dark chocolate that mixed a bit too wonderfully with her pinkish toned skin, and it made him kick himself for looking at her for a bit too long. He should be stabbing himself, especially since he had a girlfriend.

She smirked, a quiet laugh at herself for just noticing the heavy accent in his voice, and she watched him as he pulled the scrub top on over his head. She wasn't watching him, per say, she'd sooner admit that she was waiting until she was certain he could hear her. She was definitely going to hate herself in the morning.

"CHOP is the hospital that I worked at in Philadelphia," Anna saw his eyes flicker at the mention of a place he might recognize.

"Oh," he pursed his lips together, reaching down onto the bench and grabbing his stethoscope to drape around his broad shoulders. He felt guilty now, not so unashamed at having been shirtless and countering the situation with his staring, and he tried to keep his eyes from turning into her direction; he rubbed the back of his neck, the heat spreading across it scraping beneath his nails. "Well, I guess it's good to have you."

He hadn't meant to sound so disappointed at an addition to his staff, but he was tired and slightly angry with everything in his life. He was suffering, and therefore everyone around him was suffering as well – he knew that with Anna there to threaten his position, he was going to have to step it up and ignore everything that he felt deep inside of him. He was going to become mechanical.

"Are you kidding? County always draws you back," she smiled, watching him cross the room to get himself a cup of steaming coffee. She leaned back against the countertop, Luka beside her as he leaned his waist into the edge of the countertop and obviously relaxing as the contents of the hot liquid slid down the back of his throat with the small sip. "So, why are you acting chief of the ER?"

He laughed quietly, his head turning towards her slightly. She wondered if he did that often- smiled, truly smiled – because he had one of those smiles that would be contagious if he only did it often. She could tell by the rare lines across his face that he didn't do it much; she could tell that he was such a troubled soul, but she'd never be willing to tell him that.

"They're reluctant to make me the chief of ER because they say that I come and go to much," he shook his head as he turned his eyes from her, his fingertips tracing the countertop beside his mug of hot coffee, "they say that I've been to Africa twice and both times I've come back practically dead – claiming that it showed uncertainty on whether or not they would need another replacement for me if I choose to leave again. Kerry has told me herself that she is surprised that I'm still here."

He breathed out, suddenly comfortable around her, and he felt as though she was someone he would be around for a very long time.

"That's all from the words of the chief of the hospital."

She nodded, and she figured that she'd pried enough out of him. She tended to do that – drag the truth, the deepest and darkest secrets out of strangers without them ever expecting it.

"Doesn't sound too promising," she shook her head, and she dropped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat as she pushed off of the counter and crossed the room. She could relate – nothing in her life anymore seemed too promising anymore, and every time something finally seemed right something else fell right in the way. Life was a bitch, and there was no escaping it.

"Nothing is," he shook his head, following her across the room and leaving his steaming mug of coffee beside hers. _What the hell was he doing following her so closely?_ He was questioning his very being and everything he'd invested himself in – his job, his relationship, his addiction – all by his attraction to the woman suddenly in his presence.

"It's going to be a long day," she said suddenly, breaking the tension forming behind her, "I guess we better get back out there."

"Yeah," he agreed reluctantly, his body too tired to even fit anything she'd suggest. If she suggested him taking her on the lounge floor he'd probably do it – he was too tired to fight. They walked out of the lounge, both heading to the admit desk to take another patient from the load. His hand absently dropped to the base of her spine, helping to guide her, and he had no recollection of doing it. The movement was as though it was second nature.

"Luka!"

"Yeah," he replied immediately and exasperatedly. He heard a powerful voice behind him, causing him to turn on his heel to face the direction of the forceful tone; her tone was not one that he'd want to question, especially if she was angry at him – at anyone. He turned to Anna as she continued to advance in her direction, ignoring the voice and ignoring his actions. "I'll be right there to help you get a move on things."


End file.
